


Wrong Adventure

by JustMyType



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: After S3, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, It's Not February Any More, Let's Misunderstand, MFMM Year of Tropes, Miscommunication, Post-Canon, december trope amnesty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-12 03:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12949971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustMyType/pseuds/JustMyType
Summary: Wrong adventure. Wrong companion. Not the right time to come now. So sorry.That was all the telegram said.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Reasons not to post this:  
> \- I'm no writer  
> \- I've never done this before  
> \- I wrote (most of) this in February but was too chicken to post it  
> \- I'm still chicken  
> \- I never got round to getting to the smutty bits (see above re: chicken)  
> \- Everyone else is so much better than this  
> \- People have written very similar takes on the same trope
> 
> Reasons to post this:  
> \- What would Phryne Fisher do?  
> \- Why not?  
> \- The trope amnesty made me do it.  
> \- I hope you enjoy it.

**Thursday afternoon.**

> _Wrong adventure. Wrong companion. Not the right time to come now. So sorry._

That was all the telegram said. The warm bubble of fairy tale dreams above Jack’s head popped and showered him with cold dread and feelings of utter stupidity. He’d known that he was swimming out of his depth and that the current was liable to change without notice but this was worse than anything he had expected. Wrong companion? Why had he thought that this strange fantasy that he had been building up in his head all these months - a fantasy he had gradually allowed to creep carefully into the tangible realm - why had he not kept his reverie to himself? Why had he allowed himself to think it could become real? 

He had gone to Russell Street, cap in hand, and asked if he could take some extended leave. Even buoyed up with confidence from his airfield kiss his expectation had been that they would laugh but they had happily offered him several months at least as long as he was happy to take it unpaid.

"Take what you need, Robinson, you're a good man and it'll be good to have you back refreshed. I was sorry to hear about your divorce and then there was all that mess with Sanderson. Victoria needs good policemen like you but we all need a holiday from time to time."

The long service leave solved two problems for the brass: the temporary removal of a Detective Inspector whose unorthodox investigative partners had been causing them some concern of late though the new Commissioner was congenial enough that he wouldn't say that to Jack's face, and it also allowed a promotion to be granted to a promising but rather wayward Detective Sergeant who could come over from City North without Russell Street committing to giving him a permanent step up in the ranks. Jack simply needed to spend a few days making sure everything was in order at City South - more for show than anything else since the paperwork at his station was always the neatest in the district, and then he would be free to go where he liked for the first time, well, ever really.

He'd thought of little except Miss Fisher in the days since she flew away. He smirked to himself, for God’s sake man, if you are going to chase her halfway around the world you ought at least to call her by her given name inside your own head! His days had been full of pleasant dreams about this next adventure, and the nights… "pleasant dreams" hardly covered his nighttime thoughts. The only sure thing was that he was entirely unsure about where things were going. He had been shocked at her plan to fly her father to England, not really understanding why she was so hellbent on reuniting a couple who it seemed were unlikely to make such bold moves on her behalf. However if he'd learnt anything in recent times it was that there was no use nor ornament in trying to dissuade her from any course of action she was set on. The crazier the course seemed to anyone else the more stubborn she was likely to be. She had a wonderful knack for seeing through to the salient facts in an investigation but this vision was noticeably absent in her dealings with her loved ones.

The station was almost quiet for once as if the whole criminal neighbourhood knew that he was winding things up. Maybe they'd heard and were waiting until he was out of their way and they would have someone new to sidestep. Maybe his men just weren't trying very hard on this particular watch, they were also waiting to meet the new boss. This point in the late afternoon was generally the most untroubled time of day in a police station but this was exceptional.

Anyone looking in his door would have thought he was making cryptic notes, perhaps on an unsolved case, but he was actually scribbling figures trying to work out his finances and contemplating the travel agent's options for the next departing sailings to Europe. The sailing that went pretty much straight to Southampton was cheap but not very cheerful. He could spend a little more, take the Suez route, travel a little slower in order to see at least a sliver of the wonders of the East and finish up on a sleeper train from Istanbul. Obviously it would be nothing as opulent as the Orient Express but it would be an adventure of the like he'd never had before all the same. Part of him just wanted to get straight to Phryne (there, he could manage to call her that!) but it was going to take a fair while either way and after the long slow dance to get to this point he thought he could cope. And perhaps he'd be a better companion to her at their destination if he had his own adventures along the way. He’d simply never had the freedom to do anything like this. Even if it all ended in tears he would be grateful to Miss Fisher for opening his eyes to this possibility for an adventure.

The eager new constable who was standing in for Collins at the desk poked his head around the door without the courtesy of knocking, the stale aroma of cheap tobacco announced his proximity before his voice did. "Telegram addressed to you sir. Came earlier sorry. Says 'Personal' on it so I though I'd best leave it for you, then I forgot…". He tried to look nonchalant as he took hold of the envelope, waving the constable’s apologies away. His heart skipped beats as he waited the few moments until his solitude was restored.

Now the slip of paper sat open up on the desk in front of him and his scribbled columns of figures playfully adorned with doodled miniature maps of the world were pushed aside. Not the right time? Wrong adventure? Wrong companion? What was she saying? He was on the cusp of the most ridiculous thing he'd ever done, the riskiest thing he'd ever thought of, the most fabulous thing that had ever come to mind, and she was telling him that he was already too slow? She’d already found someone else? Someone better? Was that what she was saying? He laid his head in his hands and squeezed his temples in an attempt to clear the sudden clouds of fog from his brain. 

He'd known that there was every possibility that this wouldn't be a great romantic adventure, that the ever strengthening connection he'd felt to Miss Fisher might snap and fail at any moment. He'd just thought that it would take longer than this to reach the breaking point. He might not be able to cope with her lifestyle though he honestly believed that he was up to the task of trying, he had gone into this courtship with his eyes open after all. She might be sorely disappointed in him once they got beyond kissing, but there again he thought he had a few tricks up his sleeve (perhaps not his sleeve) and he knew that she thought he was less worldly wise than he was. Oh hell, had she stopped to think and realised that he was an old long-married man who she thought wouldn't be able to please her, please let her not be thinking that. Jack Robinson, you dumb witless slowpoke, he admonished himself, why didn't you show her what you had to give her, why didn't you take just one of the innumerable opportunities she's offered you? Why are you here doing much too little, much too late? You wanted to give her the world with a panache that no one else would but it's not noble or right or honourable to end up being left behind, being forgotten before the week was out.

Stop Jack. You're the wrong companion for the wrong adventure. He straightened out the slip and placed it back into its little yellow envelope before burying it in his inside jacket pocket. He stood up, shrugged into his red lined overcoat, picked up his fedora and decided it was time to go home. For the first time in a long while he wanted to drink alone until he forgot who he was.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really appreciate all the nerve-soothing comments and kudos you've already left on the first part of this little story. Thank you. I hope the rest doesn't disappoint you!

**Wednesday evening.**

Phryne Fisher’s saviour turned out to be wearing a red lined overcoat and fedora. He was propping up the bar beside her at the small town watering hole, buying her cheap roughly blended whisky that burned her throat and rubbing his hands over her chilled fingers trying to warm them up with the hope that they would eventually return the favour with interest to other parts of his anatomy. Hopefully before the night got too long in the tooth because he had to be away with the dawn. His name was Andrew Thompson and he’d first met Phryne over a decade before when he was flying with the RAAF and they were both seeking solace from the horrors of the battlefield. He remembered how her hands and mouth had felt on him during one of those interludes in Paris where the war needed to be distanced for just a little while. A happy memory tangled up between the nightmares.

Phryne looked down and saw grey wool trousers, worn brown shoes, a large hand holding out a smeared tumbler… she smiled brightly at him.

“You really can solve all my problems Andrew, I’m so pleased to have bumped into you.”

“You know me Phry, always happy to help out a beautiful lady who is happy to help me out of my…” His eyes twinkled as he provocatively curtailed his sentence.

“I was up for the adventure of flying to England but my father has just been too much trouble so far.” Phryne explained, as if she hadn’t heard her old friend’s leading comment. “He’s not cut out for small plane travel, I’ve done all I can. I’m so tired already.”

Andrew Thompson had spotted Phryne at the Northern Territory airfield where she’d landed just before sunset that afternoon. He’d taken her cantankerous passenger for a lover at first but it became clear that the older gentleman, blue with cold, was a burden to her and after she’d filled in the details for him he’d come up with a solution to her problem. His current work involved ferrying loads of cargo to and from Malaysia. His larger, faster, better heated plane had a seat to spare since the haulage company didn’t see fit to employ a flight engineer as it was cheaper to make do with just a pilot and a navigator. It would give her father a much smoother ride, and Andrew would be able to drop him off somewhere he could connect to a boat to England. It was a plan that Phryne should have thought of to start with. She’d been carried away with the idea that she had to get Father back to Mother by herself and hadn't paused to think through the practicalities of spending all day every day with a man who she could barely tolerate, who she didn’t trust and who couldn’t assist with the navigation or even allow her to relax a little when they were on the ground. Flying had given her plenty of thinking time. She’d belatedly realised there were other options to explore and fortune had crossed her path with her old friend Andrew.

Her old friend Andrew who was now obviously expecting some kind of fleshly recompense for his assistance. Another time Phryne would have had no problem with that… his hand was round her waist and his lips were movingcloser to hers with every minute. She was watching them with an unusual feeling of alarm rather than anticipation. With every drink Phryne was finding his similarity to Jack Robinson more disconcerting. She let herself drink more than she would normally do while flying as she could rest here tomorrow before turning back towards Victoria.

She let her fingers stray to run up his thigh. If she didn't look up she could imagine it was Jack. When she did look up she found Andrew’s round face and blond hair balanced on top of a decent facsimile of Jack’s body. He had been dressed in more casual flying clothes when they’d met in the afternoon and it gave her a rather strange jolt when he had turned up for their evening get-together in smarter attire while she was in the same flying outfit. She wasn't used to being the scruffier partner, that was obviously what was amiss.

Gradually she tuned out as he babbled on, “Phry this, Phry that, Phry the other…”. Quite different to the polite clipped “Miss Fisher” that she wanted to hear and pay attention to. Yet she remembered Andrew's body as being perfectly pleasant, he'd been an admirably competent lover at the time though perhaps his technique would seem a little obvious to her now. Maybe Jack’s would too, but his bedroom manners were still out in the delicious unknown, waiting just for her. She smiled to herself and Andrew thought it was meant for him. Her whisky-addled brain rather liked the idea of taking Andrew’s body back to her little hotel room. It was always interesting to see how people changed with time. She came to and stood up, Andrew’s face looking up at her sudden movement.

“I'm encouraging you to get drunk here sorry. I shouldn't be doing that. You’ll have to leave a decent break between the bottle and the throttle won’t you Andrew?” She said it with a slight edge of admonishment, as if it were her father’s well being on the morrow that concerned her.

Andrew looked longingly at his remaining whisky and realised that there were other things to long for. He caught her hand and brought himself up to his full height. Taller than Jack, she thought. “Let’s go and see the stars.” Phryne promised and wrapping her hand around his arm she led him on a rather wobbly walk back through the shabby town to her hotel. She deliberately pulled him in close as they approached the lighted doorway.

“Now Andrew…” she whispered in a conspiratorial manner as if this was the start of something.


	3. 3

“Miss Fisher!” came a loud bellow from the hotel door as she leant in to kiss Andrew Thompson. Phryne had been hoping it would and jumped back guiltily from her friend. “I told you to be back before ten o’clock and it’s twenty after. You’re lucky I haven't left you outside in the cold all night. Just say goodnight to your, erm, friend and come along in. Your father is long tucked up in bed.”

“Thank you for waiting up for me Mrs Popplethwaite! Sorry to be late! I’ll just be one minute!” Phryne called back, glad for once of the reliability of an overly protective landlady. She apologised to Andrew, reminded him that she’d meet him at six with his extra piece of cargo and gave him the kind of tender kiss that left him thinking she would have delivered more if only they hadn’t been so rudely interrupted.

Skipping up the narrow stairway to her single room and slipping between the scratchy blankets she let her mind swing back properly towards Melbourne to dream of what she hoped was waiting for her there. Deep in the dark night she envisaged another pair of blue eyes looking back into her own. She was more delighted with this change of plan than she would have thought possible a few months before. There would be another chance to fly around the world, she was sure of that.

* * *

Having seen her father off safely, well, as safe as she could manage, she went back to the hotel to try and get a little more sleep though she mostly failed in that endeavour. A rest day was what she needed. She was only a few days from Melbourne but it would take her at least as many to get back, possibly more now that the plane was playing up. She'd been following the road up from Alice Springs in her plane, the dangers of getting lost in the desert were real. There was nothing to do here, it wasn't the right place to stop but she would make do with it.The town was just a few streets that had congregated at the edge of a minor airfield. But walking around it she felt lighter and more refreshed than she could have hoped. Removing a millstone from around your neck would have that effect she guessed. She found her way to the local telegraph office to send out updates on her journey. She needed to tell her mother what was going on. 

> _Father en route via Plan B. But not me._

She handed over the form to the operator and remembered the other people who she wanted to keep apprised of her circumstances. She ought to warn Mr Butler she was coming back and tell him not to go to the bother of closing up the house.

> _Change of plan. Heading home alone._

The telegraph operator was distracted and Phryne picked up another form. Her thoughts turned to Jack and she struggled to hide a grin. She restrained herself from writing down any wording that would make the telegraph operator blush.

> _ Ignore what was said. Am on my way back home. To you.  _

Finally, feeling guilty about not explaining more in the first missive, she added a second telegram to her mother. She would send more with more details later, it was better to drip feed information she found, but she ought to apologise before all that. She knew mother would probably be pleased with them doing less air travel (‘I don’t understand why one would trust those contraptions when we have perfectly good liners crossing the oceans’ she’d often commented after Phryne learnt to fly, even though she’d lived through the dark days of the 1912 Titanic disaster). But mother would be disappointed not to see her daughter this year.

> _Wrong adventure. Wrong companion. Not the right time to come now. So sorry._

She looked up from the telegraph forms just as a woman with a small dog and a large hat strode into the office. The woman struck up a gossipy conversation with the operator and Phryne found herself surprised at how many rumours they could find to mull over in a town this small. Not wanting to interrupt them she waved the telegraph forms and a banknote that more than covered the cost at the operator who began to fill them without even stuttering over her disapproval of the class of guest that the Popplethwaites would take in these days.

* * *

Margaret Fisher puzzled over the odd combination of telegrams that appeared on her tray with her morning tea. She poured the Darjeeling and considered them.They appeared to have been sent right after one another. One telling her that her daughter was staying in Australia, and one practically gushing that she would be back soon. What on earth could have happened to have made her change her mind in such a short time?She'd never understand the silly girl she thought, which was what she often said to her friends, though in the back of her mind she knew that she was the one person who really did understand Phryne. She was pleased that it seemed that both her husband and child were on their way to England and that, reading between the lines, Phryne's tiny gravity defying contraption was no longer part of the scenario. She sipped her tea. Her and her husband were in agreement that air travel was not the way of the future.

* * *

Mr Butler, in his infinite wisdom, immediately realised that there were two ways he could read the telegram depending on what Miss Fisher considered to be "home". She was alone so either way she had to have parted company with her father. He considered that a good thing though he would never have had the impropriety to have told her so. The Baron had been a devil to keep happy during his short stay at Wardlow. Either the Baron was staying in Australia and Miss Fisher was headed to England alone, or the Baron had somehow been dispensed with and Miss Fisher was returning to Melbourne alone. Although he had been rather enjoying his break and the solitude his flawless logic, which so often meant that he knew what his employers wanted of him before they did themselves, kicked in and Mr Butler went through to the kitchen and took out the ingredients for a heavy fruit cake. He would do more baking closer to Miss Fisher’s return but with Dorothy away honeymooning such a cake would be good to have in reserve just in case she arrived earlier than he imagined. It was always best to be prepared, and it was as well to have extra supplies as the Inspector was a very appreciative consumer of his baking.


	4. 4

**Thursday evening.**

Jack couldn’t bear to take out the telegram to read again. He left it in his jacket pocket hung on the peg by the door. He forced himself to make a meal, standing in his bright kitchen in the early evening light and chopping vegetables just as he always had done. Even when he was married the vegetable preparation had been his job. Part of the domestic routine that he had taken on and made his own. A recurrent ritual in a changing world. The ingredients changed with the season and the colours cycled with the years, but there was something in the now automatic movements of the knife and his fingers that grounded him, always the same. A dangerous weapon subdued into serving as a productive instrument. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and the water was boiling on the stove, the steam condensing on the windows and running in rivulets down the inside of the panes. Like tears. Like the ones he was not going to cry. Pretend there is nothing wrong Jackie. At least eat first.

The bottle was calling him in a way it hadn’t done for a long time. These days he could have a couple of drinks and stop. Memories that had been too dark had gradually faded to a bearable grey. Long practice at restraint had brought him back from the edge of that particular precipice and he was buggered if any woman was going to throw him over it now. He’d coped with the split from his wife without drinking by himself for God’s sake. Only once in recent times had he opened a bottle of whisky when he was alone. Why did this feel like more had been ripped away from him? It was only a dream, he told himself.

But it wasn’t a dream, it had been real, real lips and real tongues wrapping together, real hopes and real desires. He closed his eyes to remember but opened them again straight away telling himself he needed to check on the pie in the oven. He knew his heart had been given over to Phryne many months ago. He had just been waiting for her to realise that the gift was just for her, offered in a manner that no one else would offer it, he couldn't offer that gift to anyone else. He knew it wasn't selflessly offered. He’d been hoping, eventually, to get something in return, hoping that he could gradually peel away her layers and find something within her that she didn’t give out to just anyone as well. Oh, not her body, that would have been an easy conquest, a delightful one for sure, but Jack knew that what he wanted was to find the depths of her heart that only a friend could reach.

But what now? The layers had rapidly been pulled back into place. Was the friendship for nothing? What should he do?

He didn't taste the meal he made. He concentrated so hard on not thinking as he ate that he was swallowing without taking in the flavour either. With hands that were steadier than they deserved to be he unwrapped the paper from the bottle of whisky he’d bought on his way home from the station. He'd gone the long way around to avoid buying it from anyone who would recognise him. Nonchalantly, pretending that he did this all the time, he pulled two tumblers out of the kitchen cupboard and then laughed bleakly to himself. The glasses had been wedding presents once, long ago in what felt now like it had been a different life. No one to share with tonight he thought, but he couldn't bring himself to put the second tumbler back. He carried them both through to the next room and put them down on the side table by his chair in the window. He sat down and ran his finger around the rim of the one he wasn't planning to drink from, caressing it purposefully as if it would somehow be able to help him out. The movement was calming. The whisky bottle was still sitting in the kitchen.

He was still staring at the pair of empty glasses when his telephone rang.

“Hello? Yes, speaking. Mr Butler?”


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we reach the end of this mini-adventure, though, given the excellent welcome you've all given me on the first piece of fiction I've ever shown to anyone else ever (excluding at school I suppose) I plan on writing some more for you very soon. I can't thank you enough for all being so lovely and I hope this last bit doesn't fall short. I'm very glad I decided to post this.
> 
> Clues as to what may come next are found in the author notes at the end, and I apologise in advance for them.

**Some days later**

It felt like she was going to be away for so long and yet it wasn't even a fortnight in the end. There really wasn't much time for anything to have changed in Melbourne. And she was glad of that. Touching down at the airfield she let herself reminisce about the last time she'd been here before she climbed out of the plane.

She'd heard from Andrew, his familiarity with minor airfields up and down the country meant that he’d been the one person who knew how to contact her. He reported that her father made a delightful companion and she didn't think he was being sarcastic, he was far too straightforward for that. Andrew had enjoyed the company of the Baron and had definitely seen him right onto the deck of the boat. That was good to know. 

In the air she'd realised that she ought to have cabled Jack again and let him know exactly when she'd be here. It would have been so nice to have him standing here to greet her. Keeping the plane intact had been using up most of her time on the ground and she hadn't thought to make the time to find a telegraph office. Ah well, she would be able to let him know she was home soon enough, and she would feel better doing it after a bath and some clean clothes. She was very much looking forward to getting back to where they left off. That kiss.

She put her head down and pulled off her goggles and flying helmet, it was always chilly up in the air but out here in the field there was definitely a hint of the coming summer in the September stillness and she untied her scarf to reveal her neck below.The little swallow pin was in place on her lapel just as it had been for the whole trip. The lads from the hangar were walking towards her, she would get them to stow the plane away though she wasn’t sure she wanted to pilot it again until it had had a thorough overhaul.Then she would telephone Mr Butler to arrange transport home. Home. There was still a part of her that wanted to run off and see all the wonders of the world but she couldn't deny that it felt good to be home, it felt good that this was home.

She looked up and spotted a familiar figure in a different guise. He was leaning against the open door of the hangar, arms crossed over his chest. He was watching her approach with eyes full of promise. Jack Robinson. She broke into a jog and ran into his arms again.

"How did you know I was coming home today?" she asked as they broke from the long slow kiss. A kiss that got better with repetition, practice, knowledge.

"How did I know you were coming at all, is the question you should be asking." She eyed him curiously.

"At all? Of course I was coming at all!"

"Your telegraphic communication technique could use some practice."

"What? What do you mean?" Clearly something had gone awry, she remembered being distracted by something as she wrote the telegrams. A small hat and a large dog? It didn't seem quite right but she couldn't make sense of the memory. She decided it wasn't worth worrying about now. "I'm very pleased to see you here."

"I rather got that impression." Jack lifted his hands to cradle her head and brought her back in for another taste of the sky on her naked lips. When he stopped to look at her some more, marvelling that she was here again and not caring a jot that she was a little less polished than she liked to be, she turned the tables and looked him up and down. A paler jacket and trousers cut from lighter material than his usual heavy wool, under which he wore a blue shirt that brought out the colour of his eyes as well as revealing the definition of his chest.

"And the change of outfit Jack? What's got you to unbutton your grey suits? Are you undercover as a dashing conman come to steal my virtue? These aren't Archie’s clothes again are they?"

"Do they pass muster? This is Jack-is-not-at-work."

"I'd like you whatever you wore. We have to go to the opera again." Jack scowled playfully at that thought. Phryne continued on, "Oh. You know. You could wear rags. Nothing."

Jack smirked. "That can be arranged.”

“I’m already liking Jack-is-not-at-work. Did you change just for me?” Phryne wasn't sure whether she was referring to clothing, or attitude, or… there was a sense of liberty he was exuding.

"Only I have the power to change myself. For me." Jack said with sudden gravitas, and looking straight into Phryne's eyes he added "Likewise?" and she caught his meaning and nodded gravely at him.

Jack held her gaze. “Keep that thought in mind. I have another overture for you, the romantic kind, don’t get any ideas about Savoy operas." He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. "I hope that I'm giving this envelope to the right person."

Phryne took the proffered envelope and turned towards the sunlight to read it.It was addressed to Mr & Mrs Robinson. She looked askance at Jack.

"Don't worry Miss Fisher. That's just in the interests of propriety.If I can't come after you…"

She opened up the envelope and found tickets inside: a cabin for two on the SS Adelaide, a glance at the itinerary showed it took in numerous ports of the Orient, then winding through the East Indies and the Gulf on the way to the spot where Europe and Asia collide at Istanbul.

"… will you come _with_ me, Phryne Fisher?"

"Yes. Yes! But Jack, what happened to the staid Inspector while I was gone?"

"He’s waiting here for you still. I thought that I would put him in mothballs, so to speak, just for a little while. So that I could come after you, as requested," Jack looked deep into Phryne's eyes "will you have this adventure with me? I might not rank as a detective on board but I hope that’s not all you’re after and I’m sure it won’t stop you from having all the fun of stumbling upon the dead bodies.”

"I need to get home and get out of these flying clothes." Phryne tucked her arm around Jack's bicep, relishing the feel of the hard muscle under the new suit. "Do you think you could help me with that? Adventure awaits."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** Right, now this story is supposed to close with a nice dose of smut.**  
>  \- Alright!  
>  *** Let’s have you get it on in the car on the way home.**  
>  \- Do you know how to keep all of our limbs in reasonable places while writing that?  
> \- I'm not even sure she knows where all the knobs and levers are in a 1920s motor, someone will end up impaled on something they shouldn't.  
>  *** I thought you might enjoy that bit though?**  
>  \- (rolls eyes) Or we'll accidentally release the brakes in the throes of passion and roll into a ravine.  
>  *** Do you have ravines near Melbourne?**  
>  \- (rolls eyes) I told you she knew nothing.  
> \- We could get rescued by a band of dashing firemen? Mountain rescue? No?  
> \- You'd have single handedly saved the day before they arrived of course. Pulling the car back onto the road with nothing but a rope of silk stockings and the aid of an unusually formidable mountain goat who found you as irresistible as every other male in a three hundred mile radius, not to mention most of the women. All I'd contribute would be a feeling of inadequacy as I’d still be concussed and unable to assist.  
> \- But you’d be happier concussed because you’d get upset if you heard my banter with the firemen.  
>  *** OK, enough, I’ll take you home then.**  
>  \- Oh kay? What's that supposed to mean?  
>  *** Generally agreement, though often a little reluctant. Let's get you safely back to Wardlow and you can take your pick of a non-hazardous interior location; there's the hallway, the half-landing, …**  
>  \- I like the sound of this.  
> \- But hold on, what's going on with the Mr & Mrs Robinson thing, did we agree to that?  
> \- There's a fake married trope going around out there isn't there?  
> \- And we're set up nicely for it. Go on then, you managed this, you can do that. We’re game.  
>  *** No, no, you can just head for the bedroom, honest. You don't need to resolve all the marriage issues first.**  
>  \- That's a boudoir actually. And now I’ve thought about it I really do need to reflect on whether I’m comfortable with the married-but-not-married thing first.  
> \- (swallows) Oh no, I'm worried I may have gone too far, I'm increasingly certain that it will end in disaster even without a ravine and those rugged firemen.  
>  *** Stop it! It'll be just fine. Look, if you just put your hand there, no that hand, no that other hand… mmm… and then your mouth goes there…**  
>  \- Nrggh  
> \- This placement’s not working for me either, I think you've just got a thing about my hands to be honest.  
> \- Oh look, there's a friend who I don't believe has cockblocked us yet, hello!  
>  *** Look, if I promise to try to write you the fake married story will you promise to misbehave properly for me?**  
>  \- Oh kay, I think we find ourselves in general agreement, possibly a little reluctantly.  
> \- Did she just mash another trope into the author notes?  
> \- Can we get that fourth wall back up now? It's getting cold in here.  
> \- Quickly! We need to warm up!  
>  *** Well, at the South Pole they recommend skin to skin contact...**  
>  \- (eye rolls all round)


End file.
